


Golden Days, Golden Boys

by AnnaofAza



Series: Eggsy and Jim [1]
Category: Kingsman (Movies), Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Don't copy to another site, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Kingsman: The Secret Service
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 11:24:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19131058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/pseuds/AnnaofAza
Summary: After Kingsman, they need a new Arthur. Jim Prideaux's name is volunteered.Or, how Eggsy meets Harry's mentor.





	Golden Days, Golden Boys

One thing Eggsy never expected about an international spy organization was the abundance of meetings.

Personally, all that could be said in the hours-long meetings could be resolved through e-mail or a quick chat through the glasses, but the tradition of face-to-face persisted. Given V-Day, Harry had reasoned during one of their meandering walks through the local park, it made sense to keep an eye on everyone and strive to achieve inter-organizational harmony.

Fair enough. But it didn’t stop meetings from being utterly boring, despite Harry’s subtle side-comments and Roxy occasionally sending him messages via the glasses. They’d even learned, thanks to one of the handlers, how to play Battleship.

Roxy had just came dangerously close to sinking the last of Eggsy’s ships when he hears Harry’s voice, sharper than anything he’s ever heard, even before that horrible day before the church: “Jim wants nothing to do with Kingsman.”

Eggsy and Roxy exchange identical looks of confusion. They know, of course, that Kingsman’s having another one of their arguments about who the next Arthur should be, and it’s an archaic rule that _everyone_ has to agree. Which sounds nice in theory, but that means perfectly good names--Roxy had been pleased when Percival had been nominated--are shot down by one knight.

Not for the first time, Eggsy thinks _this_ is why Chester King was chosen, if only to put a stop to these endless meetings.

Bors seems to share his opinion, arguing, “We need his experience, Galahad, even as a temporary replacement. We can’t keep going around in circles; we’ve rejected everyone at this table. Perhaps we need...someone else.”

“But not Jim,” Harry protests.

“Harry is right,” Merlin says. Even though he doesn’t raise his voice, everyone falls silent. “If Prideaux doesn’t want to come back, we cannot force him. Besides, he’s always rejected offers of leadership.”

“Much to the delight of Chester King,” Harry says wryly.

Eggsy blinks. He has no idea who this Jim is, and looking across the table at Roxy, knows that she’s just as lost as she is, but neither of them wants to raise their hands and admit their ignorance in front of the whole Table.

“Then we go by experience,” Percival says wearily. “Which means…”

“Merlin,” Harry says quickly.

“Don’t volunteer _me_ ,” Merlin says, throwing a brief scowl in his direction. “I have enough on my plate as it is. And I believe Percival was referring to you, Galahad.”

“And I reject the nomination.” Harry’s voice is calm, but Eggsy knows he’s digging his heels for all that it’s worth. “I am a field agent and would prefer to stay as one.”

“Which brings us full-circle,” Bors utters impatiently. “Look, someone has to do it, and I’m not throwing Jim under the bus with my suggestion. He’s been with us since the bloody Cold War. He’s guided agents in the field _and_ was one himself. He has experience in both the SIS and Kingsman, even jump-started our very own tech branch.” There are agreeing murmurs around the Table. “I think we can all agree he would make a more than qualified Arthur.”  

Eggsy raises his eyebrows. This bloke sounds impressive enough.

And the Cold War? Fuck, he wasn’t even _born_ then. It makes him realize how young he is, how little he knows about the world, how new his seat as an agent is.

“Bors raises many good points,” someone says. Bedivere, Eggsy thinks. “After V-Day, after all the...chaos, we need someone to help put the world--and Kingsman--back together. He’s been through hell.”

“And that’s why,” Harry says stiffly, “he walked away.”

 

But the tide is now against him. Almost everyone’s piping up now, saying all these things about legacy and experience and something called Testify. Roxy’s frowning into space, blinking occasionally, and Eggsy nearly jumps when a file pulls up in front of his eyes in his Kingsman glasses.

 _That’s him,_ Roxy’s text says.

Before Eggsy can reply, Merlin speaks again: “Look. Just ask him, Galahad. He may listen to you, or he may not. Just so we can have a bloody consensus.”

“Very well,” Harry says, but it’s clear he’s displeased. “I propose a close to this meeting.”

“Seconded,” a knight says, and some of the holograms immediately flicker and disappear, some with sighs of relief. The ones who are actually here rise and begin filing out, including Roxy.

Eggsy looks up at Harry, hands clenched on the table. He wants to reach over and rest his hand on Harry’s, but doesn’t know whether it’s against the rules or some shit. Merlin’s still standing at the head of the table, typing something into his tablet. “Who is he?”

“My mentor,” Harry says. “He recruited me, in fact. And Merlin. And many other of our promising knights.” For the first time today, he looks at Eggsy and smiles, warmth in his eyes. “I do believe he would have recruited you if he were still in Kingsman.”

Eggsy beams slightly. “Not a snob?”

“Far from it,” Harry says. “He went to Oxford, but that’s where the similarities with most of Kingsman’s pedigree end. Even in the SIS, he was...not welcomed. And Kingsman wasn’t as kind to him in the beginning, either.”

“Sounds like he’s some sort of legend,” Eggsy says, “especially if he _was_ your mentor. Does he have any embarrassing stories?”

“You go to me for that,” Merlin chimes in, and Harry glares at him, making Eggsy laugh at the outrage on his face. He holds up his tablet. “Do you want to see his recruitment photos?”

Eggsy smirks. “Do I ever.”

* * *

 After a mock wrestling match over Merlin’s tablet, Eggsy and Harry go to lunch, do some more boring paperwork, and head home with their arms wrapped around each other, and once they’re safely in the house, begin talking about one of Merlin’s proposed missions, a standard surveillance that requires two agents.  

“I think we should volunteer,” Eggsy offers, a bit shyly. “Me and you? We’d make a good team.”

“I think so, too,” Harry says, with a light kiss to his forehead. “But we have to run it by Merlin before signing up. There are rules about agents who are involved being paired together.”

“You’d think they’d encourage that,” Eggsy says. He heads over to the kitchen and opens the fridge, pulling out leftover takeaway. “I mean, too close and all that, I get, but look at us when we spar or have to do one of Merlin’s simulation things. And Roxy says Percival and James were, like, the shit when they worked together.”

“They were,” Harry agrees, then lightly smacks his fingers away when Eggsy starts to eat the pad thai with his fingers straight from the carton. “Bowl. But you’re right. I believe that together...we’d be formidable.”

Eggsy looks up at him, grinning. “I like that. Formidable. We’ll go down in Kingsman legend, the Unwin and Hart team, complete badasses.”

Harry seems to like that, too. “Sword and shield. But first, there’s protocol.”

“And paperwork.” Eggsy sighs and dumps equal portions of their dinner onto plates, cramming them in the microwave. “But you’re worth it.”

Harry raises his eyebrows, amused. “Am I?”

Eggsy raises a fork he just took from the drawer in the air. “I would slay mountains of paperwork for you, brave thousands of paper cuts.”

“My brave knight,” Harry says, with a short chuckle, then leans down to kiss him.

Just then, the microwave beeps, and Eggsy turns away to swipe his plate. “Rain check? I’m fucking starving.”

“So am I,” Harry says teasingly, and it’s a good half hour before Eggsy remembers his dinner.

* * *

 

The next day, they’re standing in front of a small flat, grey and non-descript, bearing pastries from a local bakery.

He doesn’t know what Jim looks like, but he imagines some old Englishman, maybe an elderly version of Harry in a suit, serious and wise and probably leaning on a polished cane.

So it’s a bit of a shock when the door cracks open, after Harry taps a complicated rhythm with the end of a Kingsman pen. The man in front of him is wearing rough trousers and scraped boots, along with a navy jacket with some faded emblem on it. His hair is a far cry from the neat part Harry’s is; it’s as if someone attacked his head with a weed-whacker.  

It must be a normal look for him, though, because Harry doesn’t so much as blink when he greets Jim, then says, “Eggsy, this is my mentor. Eggsy, Jim Prideaux. Jim, Eggsy."

Jim looks hard at Eggsy, and something about it makes Eggsy squirm—not in a way that reminds him of Dean, but in a way that reminds him that Jim was a spy, long before he ever existed.

"It's nice to finally meet you," Eggsy says, quickly sticking his hand out. "Harry's talked a bit about you."

Jim's hand nearly envelopes his, as thick and tough and tattered as old leather. "Likewise."

The first thing Eggsy thinks when he gets a better look at him is _tall._ It isn’t the same sort of tall that Harry is, all long legs and elegance, but imposing, like a looming mountain. Everything about him screams hard-boiled _._ Even though it’s clear Jim is old, older than Harry or even Chester King, his eyes are still clear and sharp, surely taking in everything from Eggsy’s beat-up trainers to a leftover Tesco’s cup rolling down the sidewalk.

But it’s hard to ignore Jim’s back, twisted painfully underneath his right shoulder. Eggsy quickly looks away, not wanting to be caught staring, but he’s sure Jim caught the expression on his face.

“Come in,” Jim says stiffly.

A table’s already set up for four, with bowls and utensils. A pot with a slightly-askew lid sits right in the center, and Eggsy smells overwhelming portions of onion and paprika and spices as he and Harry hang up their coats. There’s also a large bottle of vodka, top already unscrewed.

Eggsy steals a glance at Harry, who’s putting the pastry box in a battered fridge. It’s barely afternoon, and although he’s not innocent of daytime binges himself, the vodka smells strong enough to strip the paint off his car.

“Drink?” Jim asks, sitting down.

“Perhaps a little,” Harry says politely, still standing. As always, he pulls out a chair for Eggsy. Eggsy settles into it with a faint flush; he's not used to this kind of thing, nor does he like the way Jim's eyebrows nearly come together at Harry's gesture, creasing his forehead.

“Um, same for me too, I guess,” Eggsy says, a little too late.

Jim’s pouring is generous, though--so generous that a few splashes of vodka land on the bare tabletop. Eggsy picks up the glass and takes a cautious sip, feeling the enamel of his teeth begin to peel away.

To his embarrassment, he starts coughing like it’s his first-ever drink. Harry lightly pats him on the back with an amused smile. “How do you like it?” he asks, and Eggsy lightly pushes his shoulder.

“Stronger than the martinis,” Eggsy says. “Though those were a bit rank, the first time.”

 _The first time_ lays between them like a secret, still sacred and golden and slow. He remembers Harry pulling out a full martini set from the mini-fridge under his desk, then toasting him with an unmistakable fondness and heat in his eyes that Eggsy wanted to kiss him right then and there.

They’d come close, truth be told, full of such _waiting_ that Eggsy was sure someone would make up an excuse to trip and somehow fall on top of each other like the movies. But Harry was a perfect gentleman--infuriatingly so--and Eggsy dared not to make a move in Harry’s own house, sure that this was against the rules. It was only until Harry showed him to the guest room and said, breath warm on his ear, “Come back here when you finish the test.”

Eggsy’s snapped out of the memory by a rattle of the pot’s lid, then a scrape of a heaping spoonful of curry is ladled onto Harry’s plate. “It’s kinda like yours,” he says to Harry.

“Sort of,” Harry says, “though not quite as spicy. Wash it down with the vodka, my dear.”

“Haha,” Eggsy sarcastically retorts, then quickly says, with a glance at Jim, “Um, it’s good. But strong. Did you...make it yourself?”

“No,” Jim says shortly.

Eggsy looks at Harry, who’s giving Jim a scrutinizing look, but says, “I recognize the bottle. Didn’t I give it to you for one of your birthdays?”

Jim nods. “I seem to remember you told me you sampled this one yourself and highly recommended it. It was the mission in the Ural Mountains.”

“Part of it went towards cleaning a bit of a scrape.” Harry nods. “That’s the last time I let myself rely on a faulty translator. If you recall, my Russian has almost always led to shoot-outs.”

“Less often than your French,” Jim dryly replies.

Harry laughs. “ _Vous me blessez, monsieur.”_

 _“Dommage.”_ To Eggsy’s surprise, Jim actually cracks a smile, brief as a flash of lightning. “You were always a troublesome pupil.”

“A clever one, if I may recall.”

“But no less infuriating,” Jim shoots back. “If your father wouldn’t have had my head, I would have thrown you out the window.”

“Like he could have taken you.” Harry waves his hand, then turns to Eggsy. “Jim was my tutor when I was much younger. All the boys had to learn classics and all that tiresome nonsense, and my family didn’t have the heart to send me to boarding school.”

“Was it like a _Jane Eyre_ kind of thing?” Eggsy asks curiously, looking at Jim, who’s taken a second glass of vodka.

“I wasn’t so chatty as Adele, and we never had quite that much excitement, except when my father caught me climbing out the window to escape a lesson,” Harry says. “He was surprised when Jim beat him downstairs and whisked me away to the tower. Of course, that’s not least of it.” He leans forward with a wink. “Jim could always beat me in a grappling match, up until he retired.”

“Really?” Eggsy says, then glances at Jim. “I wouldn’t have guessed. Do you still spar?”

Jim shrugs. “Rarely.”

It’s like pulling teeth. “Well,” Eggsy says, somewhat desperately, “if you’re up to it, we can, if you like. You were in the Cold War, yeah? So you could, uh, show us some moves. If you like.”

“What do you know about the Cold War?” Jim asks, and all right, Eggsy wasn’t expected to be quizzed; history wasn’t always his best subject.

“It was a standstill,” Eggsy tries, “between Russia and America, and uh, the allies of both. Lots of...espionage. Like now,” he adds, feeling as if he’s on some quiz show and throwing in everything he’s got in the lightning round. “But with more tech. Russians are really, uh, pretty advanced. Better than us in a lot of ways.”

“Yes,” Jim says, but there doesn’t seem to be any sort of approval in his voice. “You can say that. Better.”

“Well, not _better,_ ” Eggsy hastily corrects, noting Harry’s slight wince. “Not like that. But...advanced, I guess.” He’s trying to remember the lectures Merlin gave them during recruitment, hoping Jim will throw him _something_ he can use. “I mean, the different gadgets and poisoning and turning other agents--you must have all sorts of stories.”

Jim only stares at him, so long that Eggsy knows he’s put his foot in it somehow.

He glances at Harry, who squeezes his knee underneath the table, but there’s a small warning in his eyes, the same when someone brings up the church or Valentine or the bullet--or even in the privacy of their bedroom when Eggsy grazes a particular scar on his body.

“Shall we have that cake now?" Harry then asks, falsely cheery, then hustles off to the kitchen before Eggsy could protest, maybe volunteer to get it himself.

As soon as Harry’s out of the room, Jim says, “None worth telling.”

“Sorry,” Eggsy says, flushing dark red. “Uh, I didn’t mean, I just...I heard a bit about you and--”

Jim raises his eyebrows. “What exactly did you hear?”

“Just that you and Kingsman go way back,” Eggsy says, casting his mind towards the meeting. He hasn’t read the file Roxy sent and now regrets it. “You were in the SIS, or MI-5 or 6 or something. You...started the tech branch.”

“I did,” Jim says calmly. “It was to minimize human damage in the field, to warn us of dangers before we went in.”

 _We._ That’s a good sign, right? “The glasses have been life-savers,” Eggsy volunteers. “Merlin’s added all sorts of new things on them, too--instant background checks and facial recognition and all that.”

“Merlin is exceptionally clever,” Jim says. He takes another sip of vodka.

“And he always watches our backs,” Eggsy says. It’s thanks to Merlin he and Roxy have gotten out of a ridiculous number of scrapes. They probably wouldn’t have made it through V-Day without him--scratch that, they _definitely_ wouldn’t have. “Harry says that it’s always good to have eyes in the field, but it’s different from working together with another agent.”

He then smiles, remembering last night’s conversation. “We might go out together, actually. Harry was really chuffed about it.”

"Harry is optimistic," Jim says, "for someone in our trade."

With that, he knows what's coming. Eggsy's sure Jim can read everything he's ever thought about Harry, every touch they've shared.

Jim continues, deliberately, "He thinks there's a normal life, but there isn't. He thinks that love can heal anything, clear all boundaries.”

"And I like that," Eggsy says defiantly.

Sitting back, Jim crosses his arms. "You're young. But I think you can rub two sticks together and make a fire, so look. You think you can have this? With Harry?"

Eggsy's stiff in his seat now. "What the fuck are you saying?”

"You're not stupid, boy," Jim says.

"That's the nicest thing you said to me all day," Eggsy snaps, then shuts his mouth. If he loses his temper, he loses his head, and the last thing he wants is to have Harry witness Eggsy punching his mentor in the jaw.

“By Harry’s accounts and my own, you seem talented and bright, a promising agent. You helped stop V-Day. But there’s one thing: the dog test.”

Eggsy stiffens. It’s still a sore point, even between him and Harry, packed in a box and never discussed again. “So I chose not to shoot my dog in the fucking face. I _chose_ not to kill something Merlin told us to take care of from the beginning. And maybe you think I’m too young or stupid or not good enough for Harry, but,” he takes a deep breath, “between Kingsman and Harry, I’d choose Harry.”

“And that’s your mistake,” Jim says.

Eggsy's still stock-still and stupid just as Harry comes back, bearing a silver platter, and with a little bit of drama, lifts the lid, revealing a chocolate cake and several canapes.

It’s all from their favourite bakery, the one where they go for their morning pastries or little treats for Daisy, but Eggsy can only pick at his slice as Jim and Harry chatter away about things he doesn’t know about, or understand.

His stomach’s turned to knots. What the fuck was that? A shovel talk? A _you’re not good for him? For Kingsman?_

"Eggsy?" Harry's asking, with a soft touch on his arm. "Eggsy, are you well?"

"I'm all right." Eggsy forces a smile and stands up. He knows how important this is to Harry, for him and his mentor to get along, but for whatever reason, Jim doesn't seem to be getting the memo. "I just...I'm tired from that mission, so..."

"I'll drive you home," Harry says, standing up, too. "Let me get my coat first."

"Harry, no, you don't have to," Eggsy protests. "I can get a cab. Don't let me keep you away from...from Jim." He looks at Jim and jerks a quick nod in his direction. "Nice meeting you."

Before anyone can say another word, Eggsy heads over to the foyer, cursing under his breath. He doesn't know what the fuck just happened, why Harry gets along with this fucking man, if Harry will ever even speak to him again after this. His fingers catch on a coat, the dark green one that Harry got him for Christmas, the one that had a card in the pocket that Eggsy keeps between the pages of a book.

He hears some murmuring from the dining room, and reaches for the door, ready to leave when Jim’s voice comes out, clear and almost disapproving: "You care for the boy."

"He's not a boy," Harry says, with a touch of sharpness in his voice. "Eggsy is one of our finest agents. With the Rage, he—"

"Harry, I've heard this story many times, and I'm tired of hearing it," Jim says, equally sharply.

Eggsy suppresses a wince. He didn't know Jim hated him that much. What the fuck could he have done?

It's not snobbery, he knows. That he's familiar with as much as the back of Dean's hand. It has to do with Harry, or whatever Jim's fucking super spy sense picked up.

"I know what you're thinking, and I want you to stop," Harry now replies.

"And how do you know what I think?"

"Because," Harry’s voice lowers. "I know what you've told me, what I've guessed, what I've looked into. I know what you think of two agents in a relationship, but it's not—"

"Then you're a fool."

But Harry counters: "Then I'm a fool."

Eggsy leans against the wall, not daring to breathe. They haven't said it, not yet. He thought that they didn't have to. He shares a house and a bed and a life with Harry—new, but still clear nevertheless.

"One thing Eggsy is is loyal," Harry says, voice so quiet that Eggsy has to strain to hear. "And I wish you could see that. Eggsy and I aren't like...Eggsy would never send me to the wolves. He'd rather die."

"That's what I thought," Jim says. There's something in his voice Eggsy can't read, something stuck behind a wall he can never reach. “You’re making a mistake.”

"I don’t believe I am," Harry says, with a hardened edge to his voice. “Kingsman wants you to rejoin them. I’ll relay them the message that your answer is no.”

A chair scrapes back. There’s no further conversation, no goodbyes, only Harry striding in and lightly touching Eggsy on the shoulder.

“Let’s go,” Harry says softly, then gathers his coat, not even stopping to put it on.

They don’t speak until the engine’s turned over, not until Jim’s house far away from the rearview mirror.

“What did he say to you?” Harry asks, eyes on the road. “I know he upset you.”

Leaning back in the passenger seat, Eggsy shrugs, as if nothing Jim said mattered at all. “I’m not good enough, basically.” Against his will, Eggsy’s throat catches. “For you. For Kingsman.”

Harry takes a deep breath, shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I never thought--I never thought Jim could be so cruel.”

“He’s kind of right,” Eggsy says dully. “The dog test…”

“It’s funny how he mentioned that,” Harry says, a bit of ice to his voice, “since the previous was far harsher.”

“How?” For a terrible moment, he wonders if those blanks were actually bullets, some sort of more fucked-up element to an already fucked-up test.

“You were paired with your mentor in the field,” Harry explains. “You went out together, then in the middle, you realized said agent was no ally--that was your first test. The second…” He makes a gesture, unmistakable.

Eggsy guesses: “Like the dogs.”

He’s shocked. Fuck, he can’t imagine being in that position, out there in the field with a gun in his hand and a traitor--supposedly one, given Kingsman’s love of bait-and-switch. Would he have shot Harry?

No, he wouldn’t have. Not even for Kingsman.

“It was a colder time, the war,” Harry says at last. “It supposedly was a stand-off, but agents disappeared all the time. You knew who not to trust, but you didn’t know where they were, if they were only an ocean away. Often, they weren’t.” He clears his throat. “Kingsman was whittled down significantly during that period. I was recruited at one of its lower points.”  

Eggsy nods. Harry’s told him this in bits and pieces, even shown him photos: him with wild hair and a scrawny terrier in his arms, smiling in a careless way Eggsy’d never seen, even in the best of times.

“Jim was significant,” Harry says. “He recruited me, as you know, and it was a harder time, a harder environment. Double agents left and right. Nationalism front and center, rules tightening like a noose. Purges, some accurate but some for power, for...for something more sinister. Eventually, it settled down. That test was removed, citing a lack of clear evidence, clear thought. But there was no time for that, back then.”

“So they said,” Eggsy replies bluntly.

Harry’s silent for a moment. “So they said.”

They pull into the driveway, and Harry turns the key, then places a hand on Eggsy’s knee, touch tender. “We’re in a different world now, Eggsy. Or at least I like to think so.”

* * *

When Harry’s in the bath, Eggsy pulls up the file Roxy sent him during the meeting. It says everything that was said around the table, except one: Operation Testify.

The summary is short to the point: Jim had been sent to find a mole within his past agency. He had walked into a trap set by the Russians. He was captured and tortured for months. He’d given up a few names and locations and his own mission, then was sent back to England.

After that: scrubbed. Was a French teacher at some boarding school. Came to Kingsman shortly after he’d disposed of the mole--some bloke named Bill Haydon--he was set out to find.

“I don’t get it,” Eggsy says out loud. He stares hard at the file, sure that there has to be more, but that’s where it ends.

* * *

The Kingsman database is wide and requires some clearance, but Eggsy tries his best.

He pulls up Testify again and reads more notes, growing sicker and sicker at what had exactly made Jim talk.

They’re all in a somewhat scrawled hand, initialed with a _G.S._ Some of the files have notes, too, on bits of paper that seem to be added onto the originals. It seems to be some sort of correction, and judging by the comments--too late.

Just as Eggsy’s about to close out--fuck, this is really none of his business, is it?--he catches a line, the same handwriting of G.S.: _Prideaux is entirely innocent of Haydon’s crimes._

Bill Haydon. The mole.

They’re tied together, Eggsy thinks, then something horrible begins to add up, bits and pieces: _two agents in a relationship, a fool, love not healing all boundaries._

There’s nothing, of course. Nothing obvious, but there’s a scanned photo in a folder labelled _Haydon’s Personal Effects_ , creased heavily into fourths.

And it only takes one look for Eggsy to see what Jim felt for Bill back then. The same way, he realizes, that he feels about Harry.

* * *

Jim Prideaux is awakened by an incessant tapping on the door, and is sorely tempted to roll over and pretend he hadn’t heard anything, but irritation and honed instincts make him carefully slide out of bed, reach for the gun under the nightstand, and creep to the foyer.

It sounds like Harry’s call sign, but he doesn’t think Harry’s returning for a while, especially this late in the evening, especially after their argument, especially after the way he’d lashed out at Harry’s lover.

Jim glances at the camera system--Merlin had installed them years ago--and his suspicions are correct: Eggsy Unwin is at the door, something held in his right hand like a small flag.

“What do you want?” he asks sharply, although part of him knows what he said cut both Harry and Eggsy deeply, knowing the sharp sting of someone insulting the person they loved.

But he had been right, hadn’t he? Hadn’t he made the right choice?

“I have something of yours,” Eggsy says. He holds up the object, clearly making sure it’s in full view of the camera.  

Jim stares at the photo, a bit faded from age but in good condition, clear enough to see the subjects. “Where did you get that?”

“It’s amazing what you can find in the archives,” Eggsy says, “even the dusty ones.” He clears his throat. “If you don’t want to open the door, fine. I’ll put it in your box. But I got to let you know something: I’m choosing Harry. I don’t care if you think it’s right or not, but I’d give up my life before I threatened his.” 

With that, he drops it in the mailbox and walks away, presumably home, presumably to Harry.

Jim doesn’t open the door for a long time, but when he does, immediately reaches in and pulls out the photo: Bill grinning at the camera, bold and young and with his arm around Jim, who’s looking at nothing else but Bill.

Knowing what he knows now, would he have made the same choices? Yes, he wants to say, but it’s no longer as simple as that.

Sighing, Jim retreats back inside, then starts walking over to the phone. It’s time he made up to Harry, to Eggsy, and gave them another chance, something he and Bill never had.


End file.
